


Soft Skeletons

by northernmongrel



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Car rides, M/M, Mpreg, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 23:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8552881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernmongrel/pseuds/northernmongrel
Summary: Jesse and Gabriel discuss the future.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is related to I'd Drown, but can be read as separate. I may have a thing for these two and their kid *shrug. This takes place about a year before Overwatch fell.

Outside of Seattle Washington, late November. The skies opened up three days before and haven't let up since. The drizzle perpetual—the air thick with moisture. The diner they stop at is warm and smells of apple pie and coffee. A nice reprieve, Jesse McCree concurs. 

 

He sits across from Gabriel Reyes at a booth, downing forkfuls of flakey crust and spiced apple. He sips at weak tea; a poor substitute for coffee. Gabriel eats nothing. Drinks nothing, _says nothing_ until Jesse sets his fork down, loud and purposeful. 

 

Gabriel turns away from the window and the blustery winds outside.

 

“Full?” Gabriel asks. 

 

“You should eat.” Jesse says and swallows back some more tea. 

 

“I asked if you were full.” Gabriel repeats, voice lowered. Eyes serious. 

 

Jesse shrugs—wipes his mouth with a napkin, “Ah’m fine. _We’re fine_ , you should eat something’. Anything really.”

 

“I’ll eat later.” Gabriel replies and pushes up from the table. They don’t wait for the waitress to bring the bill; Gabriel tosses a fistful of change on the table and they exit the diner. The pickup is a short jog off through the parking lot, but by the the time Jesse crawls into the cab, his hair is dripping-plastered to the back of his neck. He removes his hat and tosses it to the back seat. He wipes water droplets from his eyes.

 

Gabriel twists the key into the ignition. Shoves the truck into first gear, and they’re off. Down the slick black highway, dead leaves whipping about in the wake of the old pickup. They’d taken it off some man in central Seattle, foolish enough to leave it unlocked in an underground parking lot. Fair game. 

 

Jesse flicks on the heater; leans back. He folds an arm across the swell of his stomach, evident beneath the soft flannel shirt. He looks out the passenger window. Cedar trees blur past— vibrant moss and tangled bramble. They cross over a bridge and into another suburb district. 

 

“Ah’ was being serious back there.” he mutters finally, if only to break the silence.

 

“Yeah, and so was I. You’re fed. We’re all good.” Gabriel replies, curt. No room for wrangle on the matter.

 

Jesse chews on his thumbnail and relents, “Where we stop’n tonight?”

 

“Canadian border.”

 

“Thats a good while off.”

 

“You can sleep.” Gabriel states the obvious. 

 

“You’re gonna kill yourself Gabriel.” he mumbles. He wants to reach out—to take the Gabriel’s hand and run his thumb over calloused knuckles. Reassure the other man that they’re fine— _that they’re here._ Together. Safe. The three of them. But he refrains from reaching out, instead opting for the radio. He tunes the dial into an old blues station. _Billie Holiday is playing_ —all smokey vocals and scratchy swing. Jesse leans his head against the window and closes his eyes. Weak sunlight filters through his shuttered eyelids—mile after mile until he drifts off. 

 

He dreams of shimmering blacktop. A lion’s body lain across the road, rot by the sun, wildflowers poking up between fleshless ribs. 

 

It’s dark when Gabriel pulls up to an apartment building and cuts the engine, Jesse jerks upright. He scrambles about for a second—unanchored, until Gabriel places an arm across his chest and growls; “Jesse, it’s alright.”

 

He inhales—he exhales. He reaches over to unbuckle his seatbelt and Gabriel removes the arm. 

 

“So we there ah’ gather?” his voice hoarse with sleep.

 

“Yeah, three miles off the boarder. Old safe house.” Gabriel jerks his thumb up to the second story of the wearied building. Jesse peers up through the windshield and sucks in a breath.

 

“Blackwatch?” he asks, already knowing the answer. 

 

“ _And_  you got it on the first try.” Gabriel mutters and reaches into the back of the cab for their duffle bags. They exit the pickup together—Gabriel locks the old beast down, and they ascend the cement staircase. Gabriel reaches to take Jesse’s arm—he bats the gesture away. When they reach the second level, Gabriel produces a skeleton key from back in the day—kept in pocket for times such as this—and opens the door. Gabriel enters first, sweeping the main room. Disappears into the kitchenette and then the single bedroom;  _all clear_. 

 

Jesse ambles into the kitchenette and turns on the light. He opens the cupboard—nothing but dust. A few chipped mugs and a tin pot.

 

“Gonna have to get some grub.” he calls over his shoulder to Gabriel who’s shoving the futon around in the main room. _Agitated—attempting to find release._

 

“Saw a corner store two blocks down. Make a list.” Gabriel calls back. 

 

Jesse rummages around for a pencil—rips a scrap of cardboard from an empty cookie package, and jots down the shopping list. Just the basics, nothing too perishable. He leaves the list on the countertop and wanders into the bathroom. The place had been wiped down by it’s previous occupants—probably years ago, so he feels no conviction when he twists on the bath faucet. There’s soap in his duffle which he grabs before stripping down. The tiles are cold beneath his feet and he quickly climbs into the bath, sinking beneath hot water and soap froth. 

 

He closes his eyes—the sting in his lower back subsides. The chill slowly starts to thaw from his bones. All this would've been a thousand-fold easier ten years ago. But he’s nearly thirty, and his joints ache. His right knees fucked up, and his prosthetic could do with a tuning. 

 

But for the time being, the bathtub would do. Mindlessly, he places a hand over his stomach. He hums while rubbing small circles. A flutter—a kick, and he presses his palm against the wet skin. 

 

“Hey there sunshine…” he mumbles, a smile playing across his mouth.

 

The door to the bathroom cracks open, Gabriel steps hallway inside. Scowls, and peers through the thick steam, “You alright?” he asks, ever worrisome. Ever on-guard.

 

“Just dandy.” Jesse replies, trailing a hand through the water, “-wanna join?”

 

“I’m off to get food. I’ll be back in thirty minutes or so. You got the comm?”

 

Jesse nods, “Yeah- _yeah_.”

 

“Good. The coordinates are plugged in. If anything were to happen, anyone were to show, you’d-”

 

“Ah know Gabe. _Ah know._ ” Jesse pinches the bridge of his nose. 

 

Gabriel pauses in the doorway—opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it shut. The older man closes the door behind him. Jesse can hear the _click_ of the apartment lock, and he’s alone. He squeezes his eyes closed. Breaths through his nose. He nearly falls asleep beneath the warm bathtub water. But the faucet leaks—periodic _drips_ against the tile. So he heaves himself out—towels off, and tugs an oversized t-shirt over his head. He pulls fresh sheets down from the cupboard, throws them on the mattress, and crawls beneath them.

 

He passes out.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel rouses him at 09:35 the next morning. The smell of cooking is thick in the apartment. He out stretches from head to toe—swings his legs over the side of the bed, and pulls on a pair of socks. He ambles into the kitchen to find Gabriel, cracking an egg into a pot of rice.

 

The older man glances up; “You’re awake.”

 

“Could've got me up last night.” Jesse yawns, going to sit at the table.

 

Gabriel shakes his head, “Was a long day.” he mutters, and pulls a bowl down from the cupboard. He scoops Jesse a healthy portion of food—rice, egg, green onion and spices. The bowl is placed in front of Jesse alongside a fork. Gabriel eats straight out of the pot.

 

“So, you contact base yet?” Jesse asks, shoving around the egg. He breaks the yolk—rich goodness running throughout the rest of the dish.

 

“No.” Gabriel replies.

 

“…Base contact you?” Jesse tries again.

 

“No.”

 

“Ah’ mean, Morrison would've noticed by now. He’d—”

 

“Don’t trust Morrison.” Gabriel says under his breath, and swallows back water from a mug. Wipes his mouth—all the while refusing to meet Jesse’s eye.

 

Jesse sets his fork down—the _clang_ loud. Loud enough that Gabriel glances up from the contents of breakfast in the tin pot, “You gotta talk to me Gabe. _Anything—just_. You can’t keep us all in the dark. Not like this…” 

 

“I told you Jesse, back in Atlanta. It’s been compromised.”

 

“By who?” Jesse pries, working the edge of the table with his thumb.

 

“An external faction. Injected by the United Nations into Overwatch ranks. Blackwatch was a collateral, never the main target.”

 

“But by who? You mean to say it was the fucks over at the UN” Jesse’s mouth downturns. His heart constricts between his ribs, and he shifts on the hard wooden chair.

 

“We were investigating, Morrison and I for some time. He eventually brushed me off—said it was false accusation. Not to make it public, or risk scandal. Total shutdown by UN administration, the case handed over to the ICC.”

 

“But they already know… that _we_ know.” Jesse says.

 

“Blackwatch has a Judas agent.” Gabriel nods, scraping the bottom of the pot. _Mindless noise._

 

_“—_ I’m not gambling with your life. Not for the sake of Overwatch—Blackwatch, they don’t matter anymore. I’ll resurface when this is all over by myself. Fix it, before it all goes south.” Gabriel states, voice clipped. He places the pot into the sink and fills it with water from the tap.

 

Jesse chews the inside of his cheek—crossing his elbows in the table surface and rests his chin on his knuckles. He looks up at Gabriel—Gabriel looks back. Chestnut and dark molasses eyes, considering one another. He feels out of place—a pilgrim in Gabriel’s presence. They weren't commander—soldier any longer. Neither were they student—mentor. He carried Gabriel’s child inside of him, safely tucked away. He was a task—a burden, amongst the great rise of everything else. 

 

He breaks away from Gabriel’s disquieted eyes, and finishes the meal. They don't talk. 


End file.
